The One Next Door
by LieselLisaBeth
Summary: Modern AU: John enjoys his quiet life. Retired from the military, he supplements his income as a writer by giving trumpet lessons. Anna, excited about getting a fresh start, moves into the apartment next door. Satisfied with their lots in life, she and John have both given up the hope of finding someone to grow old with. But love may be closer than they'd ever thought to look.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N New year, new fic!** **I like to keep my first chapter short so people can get the gist quickly. (Ch 2 available now though) :D As always, I plan for other chapters to be longer. It's my first modern AU ever, so enjoy!**

* * *

 _"Like a virgin, hey!_

 _Touched for the very first time!_

 _Like a vi-i-i-ir-gin…"_

John groaned in annoyance as the music pounded through the wall into his skull. He'd always fantasized about being woken by Madonna, but this wasn't quite what he'd had in mind. His orange tabby, Kumquat, jumped good-naturedly from his chest to the floor as he rolled to glance at his ancient alarm clock. 6:30 on a Sunday morning - the sun was hardly up! He hoped this wouldn't be a habit for his new neighbor.

 _It's just as well,_ he thought as he scrambled out of bed, careful not to trod on the stretching Kumquat. He wanted to get a proper day's writing in before reviewing his first few weeks' lesson plans. It wouldn't be long until term began again. He ambled slowly into the kitchen to put the kettle on for coffee, wincing at a sudden sharp pain near the bone in his right calf. He'd have to do a bit of stretching himself before taking Shelley for her morning walk. The golden retriever was already seated by the door, tongue out and tail wagging hopefully.

John didn't yet know what to make of the petite blonde who'd moved in next door. She'd come alone and appeared to have brought only what had fit in her tiny blue car, a beat up yet hardy old thing that looked as though it had never seen a car wash. She looked like someone who could make herself comfortable anyplace and who didn't hold much stock in material possessions. _It's a useful mentality_ , he thought as he scooped the ground coffee into his French press.

He'd have offered to help her with the boxes, but he knew he'd have been useless other than maybe holding the door. Besides, she'd planted a small stack of what appeared to be textbooks for that purpose. John wondered if she was still studying or if she'd recently graduated. She did look a bit older than the traditional university student, not that he felt he could accurately guess her age. She appeared to be rather ageless. Her face held a brightness that looked as though it would be youthful forever.

* * *

Filled with a sufficient amount of caffeine, Anna turned up the volume on her laptop and pulled her hair back before beginning to unpack. The small flat wasn't "home" yet, but it wouldn't take much to make it so. Anna didn't bother with a huge wardrobe or too many knick knacks. She moved far too often to be toting such frivolities everywhere she went, not to mention she didn't really have the funds. But she did have two weaknesses: books and teapots. It wouldn't be home until the entire collection of each was in its proper place.

Anna's new job started tomorrow. Well, the training for it anyway. There would be a full 80 hours of it before she'd officially begin. She was both thrilled and terrified, not about the job really, but about starting over - again. She was determined to get it right this time, determined not to turn her job into her life, determined to have some real relationships, some fun. She'd earned that after all this time.

Much to her annoyance, Anna had an incurable habit of turning friendships into mentorships. She couldn't help being the mother hen. It was ironic, really, considering she was the younger of her and her sister, but it had always been that way, even when she was small. It made for very one-sided friendships - always giving, never taking, never willing to burden others or risk placing her trust in another. She wondered briefly what it might be like to be on the receiving end of the cup of tea and listening ear, not that she'd ever needed it of course. Anna relied only on herself. And why not? She was the most reliable person she knew.

 _No matter,_ she told herself happily as she redirected her thoughts to organizing her extensive book collection and began bopping joyfully to the peppy 80s tunes. _Today, we begin again. I'm going to be_ exactly _who I've always wanted to be._


	2. Chapter 2

"Ew! There's spit coming out of the end!" Ivy, the most rambunctious of John's young trumpet players shouted.

"Yes, that happens," John acknowledged as Ivy shook out the mouthpiece, the only part of their trumpets and horns they'd worked with that day. The other children followed suit, emptying their spit onto the floor. "There's the proper place for it." John noded. "Well, you could always use your neighbor's shoes, but only if they aren't looking." John smiled mischievously as the alarmed children all tucked their feet under their chairs.

"Now," John cleared his throat and drew his eyebrows in somberly. "Let's see who can give us the best siren before I give you all back to Mrs. Hughes," he redirected quickly. He enjoyed joking with the kids, but learning came first.

Ivy unquestionably produced the widest range of notes. The most disruptive students generally turned out to be the most magnificent trumpet players. They came by the loudness naturally. It was only a matter of keeping their attention and motivation. John had Ivy demonstrate her siren for their small gathering and gave instructions about practicing at home before packing them up and leading them quietly into the larger band hall.

"Eric, you can't simply _touch_ the keys. You've got to actually _press them down_ ," Mrs. Hughes, the band director, looked incredulously at the bewildered, curly-headed boy as though this was the first time she'd encountered this particular confusion in her decades of teaching beginning musicians. She placed her hand gently over the child's, moving his fingers through the motions of playing the saxophone.

"Hello, Moe," John quietly greeted Joseph Molesley, who was depositing his own horde of low brass students back into the band hall.

"Back for another year?" Molesley asked kindly. He'd been doing lessons even longer than John had. Ages ago, Molesley had been an aspiring trombonist, ever hopeful for a spot in one of the country's leading orchestras, but he'd never gotten a gig, not even with a wedding band. He'd somewhat reluctantly turned his skills to repairing instruments and teaching, which turned out to be his true calling. He was brilliant with the kids.

John nodded agreeably as Molesley continued to make quiet conversation, watching the ever-stern and intimidating Mrs. Hughes complete her lesson with the woodwinds. In his book, teaching lessons was far preferable to being the actual band director. There were no grades to contend with, no parents to wrangle, no teaching of other instruments he had no experience with. He'd much rather show up a couple afternoons a week than every morning at dawn.

"Tom's back for percussion as well." Molesley pointed out, though he needn't have. As the woodwinds began to gingerly take their many-pieced instruments apart, the percussion students were already filing in, Tom in the lead.

"What is that? What are you doing? YOU CANNOT DRINK THE VALVE OIL!" Mrs. Hughes scolded exasperatedly.

"That'll be one of mine," John sighed. He strode over to give Mrs. Hughes a hand.

* * *

Anna shifted in the uncomfortable plastic chair in the meeting room. She had another four and a half days to go and was eager for presentations that would contain information she didn't already know. Ah well. It was always good to have a refresher. Funny enough, it hadn't been a classroom or training session in which she first learned it all. She could hardly believe she'd taught herself a full four hours of information (and probably more) on sexual assault, domestic violence, and child abuse. She already knew all the definitions, the effects, the signs, the stigma, the reasons people stay silent. She certainly knew all about victim blaming, and, thanks to her experience in the education system, was also well-acquainted with the concept of desperately-needed help that was never given. People had a tendency to turn a blind eye rather than acknowledge what was right in front of their faces. It felt easier for them, safer. The hypocrisy was one of the main reasons she'd felt compelled to leave teaching after only 2 short years. Talk was cheap. Anna wanted to _actually_ help people, not simply _say_ she would. Working for a women's crisis center seemed like the right route to go.

Women's issues had long been a passion of hers, particularly education about crimes against women. It had never failed to appall her that most everyone she knew - male or female - didn't know what constituted sexual assault or domestic violence, even though they often _thought_ they did. She couldn't fathom that the general public most likely didn't even know the very basic information they'd covered that morning. Yet, she herself wouldn't have known if she hadn't spent the better part of her university years researching the information herself.

Anna felt it was ridiculous that she'd managed to make it all the way to her twenties without knowing what child abuse was, much less any of the rest of it, that nobody had ever thought it valuable to have those conversations with her. How could children ask for help if they didn't know it was wrong? How could they grow into adults who knew how and when to ask for help if they didn't know they could? The lack of proper education angered her. The government was failing its people, and she intended to help rectify that - among other things. Education was the best form of prevention there was.

"Sorry I didn't get to introduce myself this morning," Anna spoke to the girl seated on her left as they both stood for lunch. "I'm Anna Smith."

"Night shift client advocate, right?" The red-headed woman, who appeared to be near her age of 24, showed some recognition.

"Yes," Anna smiled.

"Gwen Dawson, day shift client advocate," Gwen smiled back.

"It's a bit more crowded than I expected. Are we all new?" Anna looked around the room apprehensively

"Lord, no. I've been here 8 months, and I'm the newest before you. You've just had really good timing. This is our annual training." Gwen began to appraise the room also. "That's Cora. You've met her, right?"

"She hired me," Anna nodded.

"Thought so. And that's her daughter, Sybil," Gwen pointed. "But you're kidding yourself if you think she gets special treatment," Gwen laughed. "Not that Cora supervises her of course. Can't have nepotism, can we? She does all the legal advocacy and some job training classes. She's great."

Gwen pointed to a woman who was older yet still looked quite fit. "Isobel is Cora's sister-in-law. She'll present for us sometime this week."

"Goodness, this is quite the family business." Anna commented lightly.

"Sort of," Gwen laughed again. "But Isobel is a volunteer, a retired nurse," Gwen continued. "Spent her entire career as a SANE. You know, a Sexual Assault Nurse Examiner, and now she does most of our hospital sexual assault accompaniments. Daisy volunteers too." Gwen greeted a young, dark-haired girl who was taking the seat on Anna's other side to enjoy her lunch. "She's quite the tutor, and she puts on the most spectacular puppet shows." Gwen complimented.

"I'm studying to be a teacher," Daisy's crystal-blue eyes danced.

"How lovely!" Anna said sincerely. "You'll be wonderful!"

"Well, we'd better grab a sandwich or something before it's all gone." Gwen nudged Anna toward the food layout, talking all the while of how much Anna would love her new job.

* * *

John threw down his pencil and massaged his forehead with both hands. It was the soundtrack to Sister Act playing this time. On repeat. And from the sound of it, his neighbor was vivaciously attempting all of Sister Mary Roberts' parts. He'd had enough of this. It had been an entire week's musical barrage of Madonna, Fleetwood Mac ( _How had a girl that young even heard of Fleetwood Mac?_ ), Michael Jackson, and countless soundtracks to obscure musicals he'd only heard of because of his long-time involvement in school bands. His previous neighbors had never made this much noise.

Slipping some shoes over his socked feet, John walked resolutely next door. _Good Lord, she sings well,_ his musical mind thought appreciatively as approached the door, the clear, high soprano carrying through the cheap metal. _I should put her in touch with the choir director,_ he mused as he knocked roughly.

She was even smaller up close. Still dressed in pajamas with her hair unbrushed, she clearly had a relaxing weekend planned. John wondered how anyone could be so vocal before they were even dressed for the day.

"Do you think… Could you keep the music lower?" He asked as politely as he could muster.

"Oh gosh! Sorry!" She ran to the laptop behind her to lower the volume and returned looking thoroughly shocked and embarrassed. "The walls must be thinner than tissue paper! My computer hasn't even got decent speakers..." Her quick speech faltered as a sudden realization hit her. "But then... you must've heard…" Her hazel eyes widened.

John raised an eyebrow noncommittally.

"Oh. My. God." the woman slowly covered her gaping mouth with a hand. She clearly hadn't realized she'd been serenading the entire neighborhood.

"I'm not sure what you're on about," John lied easily. "I didn't hear anything other than the laptop."

She warily brought the hand down, intrigued by the man's discretion and appearing to be somewhat accustomed to uncomfortable moments.

"Right… Well… I'm Anna Smith," she said awkwardly.

"John Bates." He shook the outstretched hand, surprised at how delicate and tiny it was.

"John Bates?" Anna brightened with interest. "Like that famous mystery writer?"

"I usually say I'm a crime novelist," John corrected, somewhat ruffled by the term.

"You're not saying it's actually you!" Anna said with awe.

"It would appear so," John conceded. _Famous?_ he thought. He rather liked this woman.

"Wow! Aren't I lucky?" she leaned against the doorframe, now at ease. "But why not 'mystery writer'? It's not a derogatory term, is it?" she asked curiously.

"I dunno… It sounds a bit Agatha Christie, don't you think?" he asked, tilting his head thoughtfully.

"I've always called those whodunits," Anna said equally thoughtfully. "But you'd know better than I." She shrugged sheepishly. "Either way, she was a brilliant writer. Even for a woman," she teased, correctly guessing the motives behind John's semantics.

"She's infamous," John agreed. "There's no greater dream for a novelist." He was feeling thoroughly chastised.

"Well, anyway… Sorry again about the music," Anna looked mildly embarrassed again. "Feel free to yell through the wall anytime I get too noisy," she smiled.

"I don't yell," John corrected before he could stop himself.

"Of course." Anna agreed softly. "Neither do I, come to think of it." She looked surprised at the realization. "Well, you're always welcome here. I've got several of your books. Maybe you could sign one for me sometime." She looked at him hopefully for a few seconds before her eyes widened and she crossed her arms firmly over her chest. She seemed to suddenly remember she wasn't wearing a bra.

"I'd be glad to," John said, taking his cue to go. He wished her a good weekend and plodded back home to continue working in peace.

* * *

 **A/N, As you've read, Anna (and other characters) work at a women's crisis shelter. I don't plan to write anything too descriptive or graphic very often because it's about Anna and her coworkers rather than the clients, but I will always do a trigger warning beforehand if I do. So, nobody get alarmed. It's still Banna, not Law and Order SVU :) But the subject is still so taboo that I feel the need to add this explanation and worry her job will actually turn people away from this fic... But I hope not because I'm really excited about this :D**

 **SANE means Sexual Assault Nurse Examiner. The certifications and names for the people who do the medical exams where they collect evidence following an assault vary by location, but that's what branch of nursing Isobel is retired from. Women's crisis centers often send advocates to accompany survivors to the hospital so they don't have to deal with the exam and/or police by themselves. That's what Gwen's referring to when she talks about Isobel's volunteering. (That should be about the last of crisis center jargon.) :)**


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N Wow, I think that's the most reviews I've ever had after two chapters! Thanks everyone! Special shoutout to "Isis the Dog" who's very kind : ) and to silly-beggar who answers my random questions (and is also very kind).**

Anna drew her legs around her to make room on the couch for Gwen's sweet beagle, Maddie, as Johnny Depp appeared next to Little Red Riding Hood on the screen.

 _Look at that flesh, pink and plump… Hello, little girl…_

Anna and Gwen exchanged a look of alarmed revulsion.

 _This one's especially lush… Delicious…_

"Maybe _Into the Woods_ wasn't the best choice after 40 hours of sexual assault training…" Anna said slowly.

The two women sat, slightly horrified, with popcorn halfway to their open mouths, eyebrows raised warily.

 _Any path, so many worth exploring…_

"That's it. I'm scarred for life." Gwen hopped up and stopped the DVD. "Let's see if I own any movies without pedophilia metaphors."

"Can Maddie share our food?" Anna asked as she got up to refill her drink.

"Oh sure. Just keep her away from the cheese." Gwen was pulling a small handful from her large DVD collection. "So what did you think of Isobel?"

Anna smiled. Isobel had been pretty graphic, yet oddly humorous, in detailing what went on in evidence collection. She'd drawn quite detailed diagrams of a woman's nether regions - both an internal and an external view - and had debunked the "hymen myth" as she called it. "Congratulations, you're all virgins!" Isobel had proclaimed after explaining that hymens didn't "break." They could see scarring on a child, but it was nearly impossible to tell the virginity of a consenting adult.

It made Anna wonder about the stories she'd heard of young women in other countries who'd been dragged to doctors by their fathers to have their virginity examined. What did the doctors think they were looking for? Did they take a wild guess, or did they study the expression on the girl's face? Was it based on how cruel they were feeling that particular day? She suspected a certain amount of bribery must be taking place.

"She seems very… honest." Anna immediately regretted her word choice. She might've gone with "outspoken" or "blunt" but neither of those sounded very nice either. "And terribly friendly," Anna continued hurriedly, hoping she hadn't given Gwen the wrong impression.

"Oh, don't worry about it," Gwen waved her off. "I know exactly what you mean." She joined Anna in the kitchenette and began setting out all the fixings for sandwiches.

Anna had thoroughly enjoyed Isobel. The woman was an unstoppable and potentially brutal force to be reckoned with. How could she not be after decades of being presented with people at what were most likely the worst moments of their lives? She'd been the first brick on the path guiding them on the journey to being who they used to be. _No,_ Anna corrected herself, _to who they were becoming._

Anna knew it was what survivors desperately longed for and what they shed the most tears over - the fact that they couldn't seem to make it back to who they were "before." It was a process of grieving for their former selves, accepting the new normal, and realizing how much beauty and strength had been born in the triumph. It was like being a butterfly who, having spent its entire life squirming through muck, suddenly discovered it could fly. _And such beautiful wings you've been given…_

"Anna?" Gwen had paused in putting ham on her bread and was looking at Anna expectantly.

"Sorry, what?"

"Do you think she's right about what she said? About us ending up in this profession because it's personal?" Sure that Anna was now listening, she finished making her supper. "I mean, every other career is the same, isn't it? Some people are there for 'personal reasons' and others are there because it sounded neat. We're no different, are we?" Gwen appeared thoughtful, not seeming to realize how loaded the question was or if she herself had in fact "been there."

"I think…" Anna began after considering it for some time, "That we need to have a lot of passion to do what we do." Carrying her plate, she went to look at the DVDs Gwen had picked out.

"These kinds of things aren't talked about in teaching," Anna said heavily as Gwen made herself comfortable on the couch. "They're danced around and hushed up, but never actually addressed. It was maddening." In her first year of teaching, one of Anna's young students had drawn porn in the form of stick figure art. Girls at that age had a right to know about their bodies, but it was a red flag if they knew about intercourse. The counselor had been concerned, but the principal, new and wanting to exert his power, had seized the opportunity for punishment. Anna's insides still boiled at the man's stupidity for not understanding that people, especially children, rarely used actual words to say something was wrong. It was probably the only time the girl had been brave enough to reach out, and where had it gotten her?

"When I began university, I swore to myself that I'd be the teacher that _knew_ what was going on with my students. _Nobody_ was going to go to an unsafe home after leaving _my_ classroom." Anna said with a note of defiant pride. Anna had always been able to sense when others were hurting, no matter how well they tried to hide it. The pain seemed to actually radiate off of them like heat so that she could feel it too. "It was stupid really, now that I think about it, and incredibly naive. I didn't want to teach at all. I just wanted to save them." Anna smiled sadly at the irony.

"That's not stupid," Gwen said genuinely. "Very idealistic, and yes, a little naive," she conceded with a smile, "But not stupid. I bet that's why a lot of people go into teaching - _and_ why a third of them leave it within the first 5 years," she finished knowingly. "They learn the same horrible lesson you did."

Anna shook her head tensely. "There's nothing that angers me more than someone asking for help and never getting it."

"Well, you won't have to worry about that anymore." Gwen slid off the couch to join Anna with the DVDs on the floor. "That's not what happens where we work."

* * *

"Bates! I'm so glad you could drop by! How's Elsie doing?" Robert pulled a second chair into his tiny, crumbling office so John could also have a seat.

"She's doing well. Another year off to a good start." John glanced at the grimy beige walls, wondering why Robert didn't repaint or at least dot the wall with a few more family photos. People would think he still had schoolchildren at home.

"Excellent. Well, let's get straight to business. I was wondering if you wouldn't mind helping with the marching band."

In spite of himself, John couldn't help laughing. "I believe my marching days are long over." He nodded pointedly at his lower leg.

"As are mine," Robert said genially as he leaned forward in his chair. He'd been present at the terrifying moment John had _gotten_ the war wound. It was no news to him. "But I've got a rather… overconfident… trumpet player," Robert began again soberly, clasping his hands in front of him.

"Ah, the mark of a true brass player," John joked.

"Quite. He overshoots the mark by several partials quite consistently," Robert said in mock appreciation.

John considered the offer. He really didn't fancy taking on any more lessons at this point, not when his agent, Charlie Carson, was phoning him weekly wondering when his next manuscript was going to be finished. No, what he really needed was a good two weeks to himself. No runny-nosed young adolescents to wrangle, no lessons to plan, no noisy neighbors intruding on his ears or on his thoughts when he least expected it.

But he and Robert were military brothers. It had been Robert himself that had gotten John back into playing after he'd been injured, who'd convinced him to take on some lessons, who'd gotten him back to feeling alive and useful again. Maybe it wouldn't be such a burden to add one more group to his weekly rounds.

"Excellent!" Robert clapped jovially after John agreed. "Our show is _Wicked_. It's a theatre musical. Have you heard of it?" He played a few bits of the marching band arrangement, looking to John for signs of recognition, but John shrugged and shook his head.

"Hmmm… Let me play a bit of the original for you." Robert quickly found the soundtrack on YouTube.

"Right," John said, his face brightening at the familiarity. "I _have_ heard it. It was blasting through my bedroom wall just last week."

"What?"

"Never mind," John said dismissively. "I've got a source."

"Right…" Robert was still looking thoroughly perplexed. "Well look. There was one other thing I wanted to tell you about while you're here," he said ominously. "Budget cuts are coming. I wanted you to hear it from me now and not Elsie later."

Robert looked mildly defeated, and John knew why. At the end of the day, budget cuts only applied to art programs. The fiscal year would've already been planned out, but administrators never had an issue with scrapping something mid-year to save money. John understood that the lessons teachers would be the first to go.

"We should go for a drink." Robert was attempting easiness again. "My treat. I'll text Cora to tell her I'll be late."

"I could use one, but I've got to pop by my mother's. She'll be expecting me to look in." It was the truth.

"You know, John, Shady Oaks really is a comfortable place," Robert said softly.

"With the name of a cemetery," John bit back. "She's not ready for that yet."

"She's not? Or _you're_ not?" Robert raised his eyebrows sagely. "Please tell me you've at least gotten her to a doctor. The signs you've been mentioning - "

John raised a hand to stop him. He understood where Robert was coming from, but he'd never allow his mother to be unsafe She functioned just fine with his help. He wasn't willing to dump her off simply to make things more convenient for himself. He thanked Robert again for thinking of him for the lessons and promised they'd go for drinks next week in hopes of showing that there were no hard feelings.

John was somewhat tense as he drove to his mother's home, the cozy house he'd grown up in that was utterly unchanged by the decades. Only the addition of a relatively new computer brought the home into the current century.

"When are you getting married?" Mrs. Bates' friendly voice asked hopefully as soon as John had let himself in. It was the only greeting she knew. She probably opened conversation with the postmen and store clerks the same way.

"Hello, Mother. How are you?" John pecked her on the cheek.

"I've put the kettle on. You're as reliable as the rain, my dear."

"Wouldn't that mean not very reliable at all?" John smirked.

"It means I always know when you're coming." Margaret Bates smiled adoringly at her grown son, now considerably taller than she was, and patted his shoulder lovingly.

"I'll get the cups," John said kindly.

John was glad he'd gone into the kitchen when he did. The kettle hadn't been filled before it had been put on the burner. Furthermore, the gas had been turned on, but no fire was lit. John quickly righted all the knobs and opened the nearest window.

"Is it almost done?" Mrs. Bates asked patiently.

"Just about," John answered lightly, hurriedly setting about actually starting the tea as he wondered whether he should confront his mother about what he'd discovered or if it would do more harm than good. He didn't want to scare her. He rubbed his tense forehead as the water began to simmer. Robert was right. Forgetting where she'd left her phone or that she'd already told him something twice in the last hour was one thing, but his mother had just very nearly blown up the house. He couldn't let that happen again.

"John?" Mrs. Bates called. "John, come in here a moment. The tea can wait."

John obliged, attempting to wipe all traces of concern as he sat.

"I want you to have a good life." Margaret began sadly.

"I _do_ have a good life." John interrupted.

"You're not your father. You're not going to hurt her, whoever she is."

"What?"

"Well I can see you've found someone. It was written all over you the second you walked in." Mrs. Bates grinned gleefully as though she alone were privy to a secret.

"There's nobody, Mother." John was again chasing thoughts of his pajama-clad young neighbor from his mind.

"Oh there's somebody. You just don't know it yet." Mrs. Bates looked smug as she went to tend to the whistling kettle.

* * *

Anna perched rather uncomfortably on the slender windowsill by her front door, enjoying the warmth of the cup of coffee in her hands. It had become her morning ritual, sipping her drink at the window until John left the house with his dog. Only when he'd reached the end of the block would she turn on her music and begin getting dressed, taking the short opportunity to sing at the top of her lungs. Of course, her timing would have to change next week when she began the night shift. She'd still be at work at this hour.

She wondered how much of her own singing voice John had heard - and what he'd thought of it. How much had it annoyed him when she'd put "For Good" on repeat the day before he showed up asking her to keep it down? She briefly considered the different genres of music a mysterious _crime novelist_ might like to listen to. In any case, he clearly took good care of his dog. That was always a good sign. Maybe she shouldn't have told him she was such a fan. He'd think she only fancied him because he was a celebrity.


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N Thank you so much to everyone who's reading. It really means a lot to me! Here's a longer chapter than usual. I had fun writing this chapter, so I hope you like it! Enjoy!**

Dr. Clarkson casually gazed in the direction of the sterile-looking door to give time for Mrs. Bates to process the diagnosis he'd just announced. Her son, John, sat nearby looking thoroughly unsurprised but no less defeated. "I'm very glad you came in when you did. Unfortunately, as you know, there's no cure. I'm afraid it's only a matter of slowing the disease rather than stopping it, but with the right tools, it'll be very manageable."

"I'll lose everything," Mrs. Bates reiterated morosely, though tearlessly. "My recipe for ginger biscuits... and... why I love the scent of gardenias and -" she gestured at John "- his first steps." She looked utterly heartbroken.

"There now, Mrs. Bates," Dr. Clarkson began, respectfully pretending he didn't notice the shine in John's eyes. "It doesn't all happen at once. And John and I are going to take good care of you to help you hang on to everything important." He nodded meaningfully toward the matronly nurse hugging a clipboard. "Nurse Parks would much appreciate it if you'd join her in a cuppa while I take a look at John's leg," he said kindly.

Mrs. Bates nodded, her eyes fixed on the floor, still too despondent for words. Nurse Parks hurried over to take her arm as she rose, patting it reassuringly as she guided her out.

"She really shouldn't be living alone," Dr. Clarkson continued as soon as the door shut. "She doesn't need care - yet - but she does need someone to keep an eye on her. Alzheimer's is fairly unpredictable. She could be completely fine for several weeks and then the next day forget her way home from the market and end up in the next county - _or worse_."

"I've disconnected the stove and bought her an electric kettle. I make all her meals and leave them in her freezer for her," John reasoned. "I've even got a note fixed to the kettle reminding her to check there's water inside."

"That's all well and good, but I don't think you're understanding the gravity of what I'm saying. How long will it be before someone comes to find her after she's locked herself out of the house? And how can they help when she's unable to give them her own name, much less yours?" He stared forcefully at John. He knew how hard it was to watch a parent deteriorate, but avoiding facts only made things worse. "The only thing we can do is accept things and move forward. Do you think you can make some arrangements?"

With his jaw clenched, John took a few steadying breaths before closing his eyes and nodding. It wouldn't be Shady Oaks. Not yet. But he'd think of something.

* * *

"If you do happen to accidentally shut yourself in the freezer, just let it sit for about ten seconds," Cora explained. "It has to reseal itself before it'll let go of the door again. After that, just press the red button on the inside. And don't worry," Cora smiled. "I tried it myself to be sure it worked."

Anna was taken aback. She felt a sudden wave of admiration for her new boss. Standing before her was a woman who had willingly shut herself in a deep freeze just to make sure her employees were safe. Anna had never heard of a supervisor being so conscientious. She'd of course had respect for Cora since they'd first met, but now a strong sense of loyalty was flooding through her.

It was the last day of Anna's training. Two weeks ago, she'd never have believed it if anyone had told her how many regulations were imposed on shelters about everything from frying foods to storage of the washing powder. It was incredible how many forests they had to destroy on a daily basis to prove to the government that they were indeed doing their jobs and using their funding effectively and appropriately. The daily paperwork and task checklists were quite extensive, but not complicated. Anna believed she had a pretty good handle on what was expected.

Though she felt guilty for thinking so, Anna felt the daytime staff were rather fortunate. She was sure things must be much more hectic during business hours, but there were as many as five staff members present to handle things. Whereas, at night, it would be Anna by herself.

Anna, on her own, making spur-of-the-moment decisions based purely on gut instinct and hoping for the best. Then again, that wasn't such a bad thing really. Anna's instincts had always been amazing. She had a knack for reading people and situations, knowing what was going on "between the lines" so to speak. And she'd never once been wrong. It was dead useful when meeting guys and with the many people who'd mistakenly believed her youthful appearance meant she would be easy to manipulate. Anna knew better than to go against her intuition. It was probably her strongest quality.

She hoped it would be equally useful with the hotline. They carried a cordless phone that _had_ to be answered or they risked losing _all_ funding. "You haven't really lived until you've answered the hotline while you're on the toilet," Gwen had laughed. Frankly, Anna wasn't too concerned about having to talk whilst on the toilet. She was, however, somewhat apprehensive about actually answering the hotline. _The hotline._ A number people called when they were desperate and wanted to talk to an expert. And they'd be reaching her instead.

"I've got to run to a meeting," Cora continued seamlessly, unfazed by Anna's mildly startled expression. "Sybil's going to run you through how to do intakes and exits." She was already guiding Anna quickly back to the front offices. "Email me if you have any questions before Monday, and if not, very good luck! We're so glad to have you!" She'd said it all with great efficiency and had disappeared before Anna could blink.

The afternoon dwindled as Sybil explained the ins and outs of client files, stopping periodically to check that Anna was catching on. Anna was taking in the information, but she was only halfway engaged. As the clock ticked nearer and nearer to four, the time the daytime staff left, she grew steadily more preoccupied about _still_ not having covered basic hotline procedure. It wasn't that she'd failed to ask. Anna had never been shy about questions, feeling it would be silly to contribute to her own confusion. But, other than teaching her the proper greeting, everyone who'd trained her thus far had dismissed answering the hotline as a basic skill she already possessed. Perhaps it would turn out that was true, but Anna wanted their advice just the same.

"What is it?" Sybil asked kindly, glancing at Anna's bouncing knee. "You look like you've got something on your mind."

Anna blushed and smiled with embarrassment. "I don't mean to interrupt, but… I haven't really gotten to cover the hotline yet, and I've only got an hour more of training before I'm completely on my own." She smiled again sheepishly, bracing herself against a rebuke.

"Oh," Sybil enveloped Anna with the reassuring look of an older sister. "Hotline calls used to worry me too, but you can relax. It's usually people needing information or the homeless looking for shelter. It's not nearly as scary as what you're probably picturing. After all, we're not the emergency dispatch." She looked at Anna somewhat pityingly.

Anna was feeling a bit foolish, but mildly relieved as Sybil took a sip of coffee, considering something for a moment.

"Except, well, we _are_ connected to all the national networks, so occasionally you'll get a call transferred in from there. But those are pretty rare," Sybil added as a casual afterthought.

Anna looked dubiously at Sybil. Now she was being asked to assist with the _national_ hotlines as well?

"There's nothing to worry about." She'd resumed her mothering tone. "You care. And you listen. Those are the most important things. Don't rush yourself when you're talking to them. You don't have to think of something to say right away." She pushed the client folders to the side. "Why don't we practice a few?"

It only took four rehearsed calls for Anna to breathe easy. Her confidence returning, she reminded herself that nobody went into any job knowing all the answers. She was probably in for some rookie mistakes, but she'd be sure to learn from them. She'd get the hang of things soon enough.

Seeing Anna through the glass, Gwen knocked on Sybil's office door. "How's it going?" she asked excitedly after Sybil motioned for her to enter.

"Anna's just mastered the hotline," Sybil beamed.

"Well," Anna blushed. "I don't know about that. But I certainly feel more capable than I did 30 minutes ago."

"You'll be excellent," Gwen agreed and made to leave.

"Hey, Gwen," Anna called quickly. "I've got a favor of sorts. Don't ask, but, would you mind if I borrowed Maddie for the weekend?"

* * *

"Don't sell the house, John. You'll want it for when you've married your girl," Mrs. Bates said bluntly but not unkindly.

John felt exasperated. His mother deserved a frank talk about her own health and future, but he knew how uncomfortable she was discussing it with him. She made this clear through repeatedly attempting to derail their conversation. If he had to hazard a guess, he'd say she'd been aware of what was going on long before the diagnosis.

"What's her name?" Mrs. Bates continued belligerently.

"Mother," John sighed. "I can promise you, there's nobody." Why must he always be envisioning that blushing, lovely, angelically joyful Anna? Then again, how could _anyone_ keep their mind off of that incredible young woman with a strange affinity for musical theatre?

"She's not a Catholic, is she?" Mrs. Bates' eyes narrowed suspiciously.

"I don't know, Mother." John's voice grew more strained.

"Aha!" Mrs. Bates was triumphant. "I _knew_ there was someone!

John couldn't help but smile. "That was very sneaky."

Mrs. Bates leaned forward happily. "Now, we'll have no more talk of my illness until you've told me _all_ about her." She smiled smugly as she picked up her tea, watching her son expectantly as though awaiting a bedtime story.

* * *

Anna was ready. She'd planted herself in front of the window in some athletic clothes she'd managed to dig up, Maddie attached to the leash and staring up at her with sad eyes.

"Don't look at me like that. We'll be going soon. You could set your watch by him."

Maddie whined softly.

"You just keep practicing being cute. I need all the help I can get." Anna looked anxiously out the window again. "See," she whispered excitedly. "There he goes!" She waited for him to disappear before taking off at a jog in the opposite direction. His walks weren't long, and she was fairly certain his path was circular. Surely if she rounded the block she'd run into him. The trick would be making their meeting look unexpected...

 _Maybe this wasn't the best idea_ , Anna was forced to tell herself after a full 15 minutes passed without even a sighting of John. Besides that, she was now drenched in sweat and probably smelled absolutely rank. She could practically hear her hair frizzing in the humid morning air. Ah well, he'd seen her bra-less with morning breath and unbrushed hair. Surely a little disheveledness wouldn't faze him.

" _You're_ at least having a good time, aren't you?" Anna looked down at the gleefully panting Maddie jogging alongside her as they rounded a corner.

"Watch out!" came a startled voice from around a lamp post.

"Oh!" She'd tried to dodge so quickly that she'd nearly tumbled over Maddie. Catching herself, she quickly grabbed the dog's collar to keep her out of the way of whoever they'd run into.

"I didn't know you had a dog," John's eyes sparkled with curiosity.

"How's _that_ for unexpected?" She hadn't meant to say it aloud. "I mean," Anna recovered her shock as she stood. "I don't. I'm only pet-sitting for the weekend. I love animals." She looked endearingly down at Maddie, willing the dog to adopt her cutest face.

"Do you? In that case, I wonder if you'd mind walking back with me? There's something you could help with, if it's not too much trouble."

"Certainly." Anna's stomach fluttered. The morning couldn't have gone better if she'd planned it! Although… she _had_ planned it.

"How long is -" John nodded at the dog.

"Maddie," Anna supplied.

"Maddie," John repeated. "How long is Maddie with you?"

"Just the weekend."

"Oh good. The thing is, I'll be gone for a few days next week, and I was wondering if you would mind looking in on Shelley? It would be a treat for her to jog with you. She doesn't get to go any faster than a leisurely stroll when she's with me."

Anna couldn't help getting slightly stuck on the disappointment that had punched her in the first few words of John's sentence. She'd only vaguely heard the request. She wondered where John was running off to, and if it would be business or pleasure, but she knew better than to ask. People deserved their privacy.

"I'd enjoy that," she said sincerely.

"Excellent. You'd of course be welcome to coffee or whatever's in the cupboards. No need to let any of it go to waste."

Anna balked. She'd assumed she'd be caring for Shelley in her place, but John was talking about _giving her a key_.

"She's a pretty big dog. I wouldn't want her to damage any of your things," John explained as though she'd spoken her thoughts.

If Anna had been shocked by John's proposition, it was further heightened by the fact that he'd correctly read her expression. She rather enjoyed not having to explain herself to him.

"Whatever you'd like," Anna managed breathlessly after she could find her voice.

"There's one more thing, before I forget."

"Go on then."

"There's a musical, _Wicked_ , have you heard of it?"

Anna's knees weakened slightly. He knew good and well she'd heard of it. "I… know it…"

"I thought you might." John eyes twinkled as he smiled down at her mischievously.

"I _might_ just have the original Broadway recording," Anna pursed her lips and thrust her nose into the air. "But only for those who behave." Her face glowed with sass and smugness. Two could play at this game.

As they neared their doorsteps, she said, "Let me put Maddie inside. I'll bring it right over." She shot John one more saucy, close-lipped smile before disappearing.

After a contained squeal and a small amount of excitedly running in place, she hurriedly put out some water for Maddie, grabbed the DVD, spritzed herself once with perfume, and ran a brush through her ponytail. Anything more and he'd notice.

"I'll tell you all about it when I get back," Anna whispered hurriedly to Maddie, who looked up at her dubiously.

"You should meet the rest of the family," John said after welcoming Anna into his flat. "This is Kumquat."

Anna was relieved to see John had been referring to a cat. For a terrible moment she'd worried he'd been stashing away a wife and children. "He's lovely," Anna crooned as the large, orange tabby wrapped itself around her ankles and began to purr at her touch. "Dogs are fun, but cats are my favorite," she said appreciatively. "Sorry, Shelley." She looked guiltily over at the cheerful dog before turning her attention curiously to John. "Did you name them?"

John gave a short laugh. "Kumquat is an old joke I have with the lads. We were trying to help Tom pick a name for his first-born."

"I hope that's not the one he ended up going with," Anna giggled as she went to set the DVD by John's TV.

"They named her Sybil. After her mother."

Anna turned sharply, wondering if he was talking about the same Sybil who'd coached her just yesterday. Her mouth already open, she was about to bring it up when she remembered she wasn't allowed to reveal who else worked at the shelter. She'd have to ask Sybil instead.

"And Shelley?" Anna sat gingerly on the couch.

"I named her, but it was my mother who got her for me almost ten years ago." The dog's dark eyes closed peacefully as John bent to rub her behind the ears. "She thought having a pet might help with my _shell_ -shock. Get it?" He smiled up at Anna wistfully, the usual brightness in his eyes somewhat diminished.

Anna wasn't shocked. After the two weeks she'd had, she didn't think anything could ever shock her anymore. Nor was she surprised. She'd noticed the slight limp and the occasional wince, the way John walked considerably more slowly than most men of his age. Nevertheless, thinking of him in such suffering, both physically and emotionally, sent a needle through her heart. Understanding that this wasn't something he told just anyone, she couldn't help placing an empathic hand over her chest as she took in the full weight and intimacy of what he'd said.

"And it worked," John said lightly, attempting to brighten the mood. "Along with a solid decade of writing. Time heals."

"It if has some help," Anna said meaningfully. "Sometimes it just allows thing to fester." She caught John's eye, and it was as though the sunlit room around them dissolved. Immense relief flooded his face, as though he'd been briefly surprised at her wisdom and understanding but had then quickly realized he shouldn't have been. Since the moment they'd met he'd known she was much more sage than the years life had given her thus far.

His vulnerability was replaced by a sudden sorrow at the realization that her experiences had forced her into being so knowledgeable, so easily able to relate. They gazed at each other silently and openly, Anna seated primly on the couch and John standing stoically near the kitchenette, breathing heavily as they vented a lot of things neither of them could've put into words in the space between them. Each was desperate to let the other know there was no pity or thought of weakness, that they were safe with each other, that they could trust each other with both the darkness and the light.

"So shall we watch this then?" John, having meandered his way to the TV and picked up the DVD, was studying the information on the back.

"On one condition," Anna said playfully.

"What? That I don't bring up your singing ever again?" His mahogany eyes were sparkling again like mystic trees in a faery forest. It made Anna positively melt the way he could smile with his eyes. They were her favorite feature of his.

"That. _And_ you have to promise you'll see it with me live one day." She crossed her arms expectantly, making it clear she wouldn't let him turn her down.

"Agreed," John said in mock seriousness. "I'll get us some breakfast."

* * *

 **A/N I know shell-shock is an outdated term, but I know a couple of elderly folks who still use it, so I figured Mrs. Bates would too.**


	5. Chapter 5

**A/N This chapter is light on romance, which I sort of poked fun at as you'll see. : ) However next chapter... :D Thank you again for your reviews. Your thoughts give me ideas on what could be elaborated more or what avenues to take, so you should know you're all improving my writing. Shout out to silly-beggar who named the hotline caller for me : ) The name she chose is not meant to be a real person from either her or my life.**

* * *

John was determined to preserve his mother's independence as long as possible. Feeling she would be less frightened if she knew more about Alzheimer's and its progression, he'd researched with her, and indeed it had made her feel more in control. The dark cloud of unsurity was always more menacing than even the most dismal truths. Together, they'd spent the last few days posting notes around the entirety of the house - reminders, reassurances, and an emergency plan all written in Margaret's own hand, which they hoped would be a comfort to her if she had need of them. She'd even written a couple of letters to herself and placed them in labeled envelopes in various locations. John had respectfully let the contents remain private. At his own suggestion, they were now embarking on the intertwining tasks of making a large, detailed scrapbook and putting to paper every anecdote and experience she most wanted remembered. After he soon returned home, his mother would expect calls from him twice daily, both at 8 in the morning and 8 in the evening, just to check in.

With each new addition to their safety plan, John could see that his mother was becoming more at ease, which was what he most valued out of their last few days' work. He couldn't imagine how terrifying it must be for her, knowing the inevitable would sneak up on her when she least expected it and likely consume her without her even realizing. Yet... she would realize it... somewhat. And that was perhaps the most terrifying part of all for her. But she had always been a warrior.

Picking up the vibrating phone, John was disappointed to see it was only Charlie Carson. He'd been hoping it would be a certain joyful neighbor on the other end of the line.

"John! Good man!"

John raised an eyebrow skeptically and remained silent. Charlie Carson only sounded so exuberant either when he was enthralled by or abhorred John's work, and John thought he knew which way this call would go. Unable to finish his manuscript before his hiatus, he'd sent what he'd completed thus far along with a brief summary of the conclusion off to Charlie. It had felt rushed, and he knew it wasn't his best work.

"I absolutely adore this love interest you've thrown in. She's a very strong character, very well-rounded, very capable - if you know what I mean, and I believe you do. She absolutely _flew_ off the page and captured my heart."

 _Mine too,_ John thought wistfully.

"So tell me, are you planning on getting them together?"

"You think they're a good match then?" John hadn't been sure. There was such an age gap. It wasn't a likely pairing. Some might even say there was something foul in it.

"Are you kidding? They may as well be Robin and Cormoran Strike! And we all know how _that's_ going to end up," Charlie laughed heartily. "But here's the thing, John."

John could practically see the large man straightening in his impressive office chair, his face suddenly somber.

"We all know this won't be your last novel with this character, but give the readers some sort of resolution. You've got two characters who are perfect for each other showing absolutely no interest. Readers don't want a stagnant relationship. _Get them moving._ "

"Right," John replied resolutely, though Charlie had already hung up on him. Without even a hint of hesitation, he brushed away any pangs of anxiety and quickly phoned Anna to see how things were going back home.

* * *

Doing her best to swish away her mild butterflies, Anna waited to be buzzed into the shelter for her very first official shift. Upon entering the office, she was surprised to see a stout, matronly woman manning the desk. Did all the red-heads in the city work at their shelter?

"Hello, I'm Anna." She was friendly but didn't feel further explanation was necessary. She was obviously there to take over the shift.

"Nope! Back to bed with you!" The gruff woman called sternly to a child attempting to sneak past the office. The child rolled his eyes and sulked all the way back to his family's room. Children didn't have to be asleep, but they had to stay in their rooms after 8.

"I didn't get to meet you in training," Anna said encouragingly, figuring it would be a bit too obvious if she introduced herself again.

"No, well, somebody had to be here with the phone and door, and as I've been here the longest, I got the happy task. Beryl Patmore," she finished with a nod as she began packing her large purse to leave.

"Is there anything I ought to know?" The butterflies, quieted by the unexpectedness of meeting yet another new staff member had returned full force.

Mrs. Patmore scoffed. "There's quite a lot you ought to know. But I expect you'll learn it all soon enough." She spoke gruffly, but not without warmth. "I've been here long enough to see our clients' children come in a decade later with their _own_ children for the exact same services. Not much of a success rate, is it?" She looked up at Anna wearily. "It's a heartbreaking job, Love. Be sure you never take it home with you." And with a kind pat on Anna's shoulder, she shuffled her way towards the exit.

Hardly having taken a seat behind the desk before the screeching buzzer told her someone was at the door, Anna figured Mrs. Patmore must have left something behind. But the image on the security camera instantly sent her into high alert.

Anna wondered how long the man had been watching the building, if he'd seen her drive up, if he'd waited for Mrs. Patmore's car to leave before coming out of hiding and ringing the bell. The shelter took male residents, but they didn't have any right then. Besides that, their location was supposed to be secret. Chills coursed through her as she wondered how exactly he'd found them, and she pushed the button to speak.

The man claimed he was homeless, but his well-kept mustache and clean clothes said otherwise. His face, which was partially (and purposely Anna thought) hidden under a cap, gleamed with the most falsely pitiful look Anna had ever seen. She bought nothing about his story or his overly stooped shoulders, but what was the protocol for this? He was all but demanding she let him in.

Just as she was thinking she'd better call Cora, a very tall woman who looked to be hardly out of her teens appeared in the doorway.

"Can you let me out?"

Anna's stomach plummeted. "Actually, I've got to ask that you wait a bit. There's something I'm just finishing up." Anna said much more calmly than she felt. If she let the woman out, the man would surely intrude, and she had a horrible suspicion he was one of these women's batterers.

"It's just that green button there! The one that says exit! It won't take you but two seconds!" The girl couldn't believe her ears.

"I'm Anna. What's your name?"

"Destiny!" she said hotly.

"Well, Destiny, I can't let you out right now. I'll come get you when I can." She stared at the girl stonily. She wouldn't be budged on this, and she refused to create panic in the entire shelter by sharing the situation.

"Stupid bitch!" Destiny's yell echoed as she stormed away.

Anna began hurriedly flipping through the employee directory. Surely Mrs. Patmore was still awake. She probably hadn't even made it home yet.

"Are you okay, Honey?" This time it was a matronly black woman poking her head in with a motherly look of concern. She'd undoubtedly heard the insult.

"Oh, yes," Anna said breezily and flashed a smile as she dialed. Why weren't these women in bed? She didn't want to be unkind, but she had bigger worries at the moment. "Don't worry. I'm made of stout stuff." She thanked the woman for looking in and politely shut and locked the office door against further intrusions.

"Tell him we don't take walk-ups," Mrs. Patmore said in a much kinder voice than she'd used just ten minutes prior after Anna had explained the situation. "Tell him to call the hotline and that 'they'll' help him out."

It seemed the obvious answer now that it had been said aloud. Feeling reassured, Anna repeated the message through the speaker.

"Can I just come in and get some socks?" he whined. "I don't have to stay the night."

"Call the hotline. They'll help you." Calmly repeating herself (or perhaps it was contained fury) was her go-to weapon. Apart from some pretty intense facial expressions, neither Anna's presence or size were often viewed as intimidating. Her voice, however, could be downright volatile.

"What about some food?" The man pressed on forcefully.

Now angry, Anna was done with the man's games, and her tone became accordingly icy. "Sir, this is private property. I don't know you, and I don't want to know you. If you don't leave immediately, I'll be forced to call the police."

The ferocity worked. Anna watched all exterior cameras to make sure he'd actually gone and, after checking Destiny's file to see that the description of her batterer didn't match the man, silently and rather detachedly got Destiny out the door. Christ! She'd only been at work 20 minutes!

Her nerves still on edge about the persistent near-intruder, Anna spent the next couple of hours busying herself with all the trash-emptying, cleaning, copying, restocking shelves, and paperwork that was reserved for the presumably quieter night shift. She'd just settled in the office chair with a fresh cup of coffee to check her email when the phone rang.

The clinical, official woman identified herself as an advocate from the national sexual assault hotline. "The caller gave your post code. May I put her through?"

"Of course," Anna said breathlessly. Before she could prepare herself, a frail, elderly voice filled the receiver, asking if anyone was there.

"Women's crisis center. How may I help you?" The required greeting seemed like a good place to start.

"Yes… I live at Shady Oaks… And… I was raped?" She said it as a question, as though she wasn't sure she was allowed to speak of it.

Closing her eyes and taking a steadying breath, Anna thought about Sybil's advice. All she had to do was be present with the woman. What would she want someone to say to her if she herself were calling?

"I'm so glad you called," Anna began. "Are you comfortable giving me your name?"

"Catherine Johnson?" Still very insecure.

"Ms. Johnson, you said you're calling from Shady Oaks, right? Is that where the attack happened?"

"No. It was over 20 years ago." Her quiet voice was shaking now.

Anna felt the release of a small amount of the tension she hadn't realized she'd been holding.

For a moment, she'd been picturing some sadistic employee preying on the vulnerabilities of the nursing home residents. She hated that Ms. Johnson had had to experience any form of attack at all, and she didn't want to minimize it, but she was inordinately relieved she hadn't just been made privy to some sort of ongoing sinister operation.

"It was so long ago… I know it shouldn't be bothering me anymore," Ms. Johnson continued ashamedly.

The guilt and fear broke Anna's heart as well as the boundary between her and the caller. She suddenly felt as though she were sharing a cuppa with an old neighbor rather than on the phone. "Ms. Johnson, what happened was a big deal. It takes a long time to deal with something so horrible. It's okay that it still hurts," she said sincerely.

The kindness had done the woman in. Anna could hear soft crying on the other end of the line. "It's just that I've never spoken of it before," she choked out before tears consumed her.

"It's so brave of you to be ready to deal with it now. With your permission, I could give your name and phone number to our counselor so she could call you about an appointment." Anna double checked she had Ms. Johnson's permission to share her information and then asked if she'd like to stay on the phone a bit longer.

"No, thank you. But I'm going to keep this number." She was still crying, but her voice had gained some strength. "And what is your name?" She asked it as though the answer was the very thread of hope she was clinging to.

"Anna," Anna replied tenderly. She knew it was for her own safety that she wasn't supposed to give her name, but she felt it was an appropriate exception to make.

"Anna," Ms. Johnson repeated softly with a sigh of comfort.

"I'm so glad you called, Ms. Johnson. You'll hear from us in the morning, but you can always call us back if you want to talk again. We'll be here."

Anna hung up, charged with a completely different type of rush from the adrenaline that had plagued her as she dealt with the man at the door. She'd answered the hotline. She'd answered the bloody _national_ hotline! And she'd done well. Sybil's advice had been perfect. Thank goodness her first night was proving to be such a mess. The job would feel positively breezy after all this.

Thinking some more about Ms. Johnson, Anna realized the elderly woman, like many survivors Anna had visited with, had needed permission to feel upset. Perhaps it was tied into the fact that, in Anna's experience, a survivor surprisingly didn't usually receive support from those closest to her. Maybe people instinctively knew when the people around them would rather silence them than support them, that it was much easier to deny or dismiss a loved one's pain than acknowledge she'd been hurt even though it was the complete wrong thing to do. People simply needed to be believed. And heard.

Anna had somehow always attracted a strangely large amount of confidences, things she'd of course never repeated even to this day. People usually finished these often horrifying stories with a rather shocked expression followed by, "I've never told anyone that before." Although she'd been a supportive and safe sounding board, Anna had never felt she'd actually been able to instill any hope or relief in anyone before - until now. It was incredibly fulfilling, and with an intense certainty, Anna was sure she was finally exactly where she was meant to be.

Being an efficient worker, Anna had completed all her nightly tasks by 4 in the morning, only halfway through the shift. She felt a twinge of guilt as she settled in the office chair with a book, but she likened it to the many hours of baby-sitting she'd done as a teen. She'd been perfectly free to pursue her own tasks once the kids were asleep and the house tidied, and there was no reason for her not to do the same now.

The book was one of John's of course, one she'd read before. But this time she was far more interested in clues about the writer than in the plot itself. Anna felt that even if the writer wasn't aware of it, quite a lot could be revealed about a person through fiction, if not glimpses into one's personal life and experiences then certainly a very intimate grasp of the person's beliefs. After all, the most basic writing advice was to "write what you know."

Anna was beginning to get frustrated with her neighbor really, and confused. She and John had watched Wicked and shared a brunch, but the morning had been thoroughly platonic with no mention of venturing into more romantic territory. Spending time with him was entirely too similar to spending time with Gwen - other than Anna was constantly thinking of him, wondering how she looked, if she'd said the right thing or was being annoying, if she was overstaying her welcome. Why was this so complicated? Why was _he_ making it so complicated?

A less perceptive woman might say he wasn't interested, but Anna knew better. The problem was that he wasn't _letting_ himself be interested. They'd exchanged numbers under the pretense of being able to contact each other in case of a Shelley or Kumquat emergency, and neither had tested the waters by way of using it for more friendly means. It was ridiculous now that she thought about it. They were acting like 14-year-olds.

He hadn't even seen her place yet. She should invite him over. She pictured him in her doorway, her on her toes so their lips could meet. Or perhaps they'd make themselves comfortable on her couch, sinking into each other's warmth as they shared a bottle of wine. Her bed was a fairly warm place as well. As soon as her shift was over, she'd go on the hunt for some decent sheets.


End file.
